Dealing With The Devi-L


devi_icon.gif luther_icon.gif

Scene Title Dealing with the Devi-l
Synopsis Home Sweet Home. Let the shenanigans begin - even Devi isn't beneath stealing from the poor.
Date August 2, 2010

Anarchy Customs: Garage

This three story building is constructed from old, cracked concrete and cinder blocks, the naturally gray hue is long since caked with the common signs of neglect and vagrancy, filth and graffiti, common on the island. The graffiti here, however, seems notably fresh.

The entrances to the buildings are too wide, large bay garage doors. The words 'Anarchy Customs' are painted in chaotic letters on each. Just inside a large garage is home to various motorcycles and parts in different states of dismantling, repair, reconstruction, or destruction. The walls are cluttered with various tools, mobbed further with stolen street signs and more untamable, fresh graffiti. The smell of oil clings to the air as eagerly as the grease stains spattered on the concrete floor.

Across from the large, bay garage doors, a single black-iron, spiraling staircase is set beside the opposite wall, corking up to the floor overhead.

No steady sound of a rumbling engine interrupts the stillness of the evening. A sputter instead, out of place and strained like a choked engine struggling for the last dregs of its unleaded thirst pulls along, crawling with invisible sound waves through the air and on the street. The grimy yellow lights of the shambling periwinkle and white '67 Vanagon pull into place along the sidestreet, limping to a halt before mercifully being allowed to rest.

The driver within sags as well, tired like the metallic beast he guides, and leans his head against the natty cushion behind him for but a few moments. "It's okay," he talks to the vehicle like it were an old friend. "We'll probably have some better luck here." A pat of the steering wheel later, Luther pulls open his door with a telltale rusty creak and clunk. The man, clearly not of any wealth and few assets, makes his way to the garage where he looks to gain the attentions of someone within the establishment. Should there be any at this hour, anyway.

Not at this hour, not for many hours before; not for weeks or months, has an 'employee' been within the walls. Dust has settled along the benches and tools. A few nuts and bolts have been disheveled by the passing of little rodent feet across the work space. All is silent…

Until… *Tickt, tickt, tickt, tickt. THUD!* The rolling door at the head of the garage slings up and clatters into place against the ceiling overhead. There stand the she-devil, her hands still lifted overhead from swining the garage door on high, as if welcoming the mucky site. "Honey, I'm home!" She calls in a sing-song taunt, only to stop abruptly as her dark gaze takes in the man nosing about within. She cocks her head like a mischievous bird. "Can I help you, Squater?"

Two men leap out of an old CJ-7 behind her, oblivious to what has brought their head-hauncho pause. The men take task in unloading a number of large crates and beginning the errand of unstrapping a motorcycle from the trailer hitched upon the old Jeep.

Luther spins on a bent dime, first glancing to the unveiling garage door and then to any available hiding spot. The indecision keeps him from going anywhere, and thus pins him in place for the reveal. "I'm not," he replies evenly compared to his less secure, hunching posture. "Squatting. I was just looking around to see if anybody was around." Even he winces at the weak reasoning. Seeing the men unloading those crates, however, Luther takes a half step sideways, wary movement coloring his positioning. The look he gives the young woman accuses with the suspicions of thievery. But it's just a look.

Those tattooed and lithesome arms lower slowly, one seeking an oh-so-casual place at her back where the butt of a gun sticks out from her studded belt. Devi's attention follows the man's suspicion to where the lackeys continue their work. She lofts a dark chiseled brow and takes a brisk step forward a single, heavy beat of her combat boots. "So, just a little recon before your R and R?" She grins. "Well, this place is occupado, Squater. Unless of course you got somethin' worth my time or interest…" A quick whisk of her attention over the man's frame relieves her touch of the hidden firearm. Apparently she takes no threat of him and moves further into her building.

The men take up the boxes, one at each end of the large black crates, and file past the tattooed femme. "Everything okay, Boss?" asks the one, eyeing the man as he begins his backward assent up the spiraling staircase. "Fine fine," Devi replies, rushing them off with a wave of her hand. "Just get that shit up there and unpacked. We've got business to attend to, ya?"

Now who's she to be giving orders like that? Luther narrows his gaze and doesn't budge at her approach, even if his eyes drop from his height. "Well lady, I'm not going to be moving much anywhere unless you're in a giving mood for some gas," comes the rumbling reply. A finger crooks in the direction of where he'd parked his vehicle. It's after she speaks to the men that Luther starts to smile a bit. "I'll help you unpack even," he offers, "if you care to trade favors."

"Hm?" Devi's gaze almost unwillingly follows the direction of the man's jutting digit. In that little motion the man is suddenly relieved entirely of her heavy scrutiny, interest, and bitter words. She looks at the van like a veterinarian might a lost and sickly puppy. "Fine," she mumbles, waving her hand at Luther in the same fashion she had the other gangsters. "Be useful…" Her boots are already shuffling her forward, her hands already wrenching up the hood as her mind is working through the pattern of gears and pistons that should wait within the hull of metal.

"What the…?!" The cacophony of 'craftsmanship' revealed in the heart of the beastly van has the dark damsel beckoning the man in a frantic fashion. "Did you do this? Who did this?!" Her gaze is fiery as her attention volleys from the vehicle, to its owner, and back. Suddenly the Squatter has become a great deal more interesting.

Luther gladly moves to assist the men who might find the smell of sweat and lack of hygiene offensive enough to take the couple of extra steps around him. He doesn't catch Devi's movement towards the van until it's much too late to stop her, and with his hands full he lamely calls out, "Wait, don't open tha…!" Well, shit. He moves towards the van, an armful of box accompanying. Once he's reached her, Luther turns his own voice volume down, trying to make no big deal of it. "I met a guy," he explains in a lowered tone, "and he… well, he fixed it for me. It was running great until I started running out of gas."

”So, you didn’t do this…?” Devi’s own tone has become hushed. She looks down into the belly of the beast. Her tone seems almost disheartened at the news. She strums her fingers over the surface of the strange contraption within before withdrawing her fingers with a quick jolt. “It’s staying,” she says bluntly, turning and walking away from the man without a second glance. She juts a thumb over her shoulder, kicking the lackeys into high gear to wheel the van into the bay of the garage. The tattooed vixen is already brushing off her tools like a preparing surgeon.

Answering her with brevity, Luther simply shakes his head to her interrogative inquiry. No, he hasn't a clue of how it works, or what the mystery man did to his machine. Alas. But more than that, her words draw another sputter - this from the man. "Wh-what do you mean it's staying? We had a deal," he protests. The box in his arms remains, but Luther preps to re-position himself in protection of his vehicle. For all intents and purposes, he isn't about to let anybody simply hijack the car just yet.

Gangster Numero Uno wobbles back and forth uncertainly, weaving from one side to another in shabby attempt to step around the vehicle's owner. Devi's shoulder slumps, her wrench hitting the metallic surface with a large clatter. She pinches the bridge of her nose as if trying to fight of the sort of migraine an annoying five-year-old might inspire. "Squatter, ya don't have much in the way of bargainin' chips, ya?" She drops her hand with an exasperated sigh and fixes her pitch-hued gaze upon Luther. "You can have your gas when you get the boxes upstairs, but you can have your van when I'm good and ready, ya?" She paints on a devilishly sweet smile and makes a sweeping gesture to for the man to usher his world load up into the next level of her abode. Number One gives Luther a rough pat on the shoulder and a half-hearted shove away from the vehicle and towards the garage. Three to one, gotta love those odds.

What frustrations may come from the constant nickname being assigned him sweep away with the push Luther receives from the thug. He stumbles, almost dropping the box in his arms entirely but just managing to catch his footing. The man's expression stretches between annoyed and helpless. Three to one isn't odds that he's loving. But he does have a trump card in his sleeve: his ability. Is it worth using, though? Torn for several seconds, eventually Luther yields to the tide. "Fine, but in the meantime my name isn't 'Squatter' either. It's Luther." The immediate hitch following the speaking of his name is a catch he regrets. Giving his real name to the madwoman who's going to do something to his only mode of transport? Madness. "And you better not pinch anything from inside either. I know what's in it, and if I find something's missing…" He hoists the box up, striding after the girl with his idle threat in tow.

Devi's lips, painted a lovely night-black, turn up in a triumphant smile. "Smarter than I thought, Squater." The introduction of the man's true name seems to have made no impact. The lackeys give a bemused chuckle and finally proceed to roll the van into the garage, while Devi directs the man up the stairs. "Hey, pits!" she calls up behind him. "Shower your ass while you're up there, would ya?" She snorts, reclaims her wrench, and turns back to the van now posed in the center of her shop. "Hey, babeh. Come to Momma…"

The racket of her workings would work for a few hours longer while the men and Luther worked to bring up and unpack the load of drugs and firearms from Devi's recent vacation below the boarder. Finally, when many of the van's guts had been dissembled and splayed out in an orderly fashion along the floor and benches, lackey Numero Two would present Luther with a simple cot and pillow in the corner of the garage while Devi herself went up to the comfort of her much-missed home and bed on the topmost floor of the graffiti-covered building.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License